Winter of 1867
Upon the death of both Mr. and Mrs. Kristoffun, their daughter Adeline Kristoffun will reside with her Aunt Chalice and Uncle Damien in western Scotland. If such an unfortunate event is to ever occur, Adeline Kristoffun will retain all previous personal possessions and the Kristoffun family’s money will be stored in a bank until Adeline Kristoffun reaches the age of 21; she will then gain possession of her rightful heritage.
Witness: Alexander Gremil
Signed: Morgan and Ragnor Kristoffun

Dated: 10/31/1867

Spring of 1870

The grim procession of sorrowful mourners in black stretched from the back of the cathedral to the stage. Countless numbers of people stopped in front of me to profess their solemn and sincere condolences for the grave loss of my family. Throughout the entire process, my Uncle Damien remained expressionless; clearly still devastated as the accident that killed both my parents also killed his wife, Chalice. The line of mourners cast a dark shadow down the half empty pews. The priest called the cathedral to order, preparing to begin the sermon. I slowly backed into the shadows and disappeared from notice as I often do. I swiftly and silently exited the church into the cemetery.

I lifted my flowing black dress to my knees; fog swirled around my feet as I wove through the graves. As I ambled through the maze of the cemetery, dry leaves cracked loudly, reverberating in the austere silence of the cemetery. The worn paths of those who had lost loved ones as I had stretched before me. The sky darkened in preparation for a storm, light was diminished to a mere trickle of a fading sunset. I halted in front of the graves that were my family’s and knelt in despair. Memories of better times pervaded my thoughts. I shut my eyes to try to stop the onslaught of memories. Thunder cracked. Rain fell. The memories vanished, leaving me feeling oddly deficit of any light.

Less than three days later I was no longer in London, but Scotland. The rickety carriage creaked up to a towering mansion barely perceptible in the coming darkness, shadowed from moon light by huge redwood trees. Gargoyles were suspended from windows around the manor and grotesque statues stood waiting at the front doors. The mansion was in a state of pitiful disrepair. I looked disbelievingly at my uncle but he maintained a distinct distance from me, offering no solace or explanation for his oppressive home. The only knowledge I was granted from my uncle was that my scarce possessions had arrived before me and were waiting in my designated room.

Later, as I stepped into my new room, I was met with a miserable sight. No light other than a single beam of moonlight shone through a cracked window pane. Pieces of glass and dust littered the floor, a solitary desk sat in a corner, its wood peeling off to reveal the inner bark of a tree. Ugly yellow wallpaper lay tattered and peeling, a ripped painting of a young bright eyed child hung on my wall.

I picked up a large piece of glass and hesitantly held it out before me, preparing myself for the image it would reveal. I stared into the eyes of a skinny, malnourished woman with scraggly black hair that hung in her eyes. Emerald eyes filled with pain and misery stared lifelessly back. A frail hand reached out to the mirror; the vision did the same. Two pairs of green eyes widened alarmed that the stranger in the mirror was me.

That night, terrified screams resonated through the house, leaving me huddled in the musty sheets of my bed. Every night that followed was filled with howls, screams, creaks, and screeches. One night I was in the kitchen looking for milk when a vision with fiery red hair appeared from the shadows. She floated towards me effortlessly. As she neared I realized she was crying, her blue eyes glittered with unshed tears. She advanced towards me, her eyes seeming to plead for me to follow her, to become trapped in her spell. I watched her, entranced; she turned, her gray dress swirling, and streaked up the steps of a newel.

As the woman kept climbing, I rushed to follow her, panting as I ran up the winding staircase, often tripping in the dark. The woman abruptly turned and screamed, disappearing through an ironwood door. I rushed to the door, searching for a handle, but all I found was a broken lock lying on the floor. An oculus was carved into the upper portion of the door. Grappling for the windowsill of the oculus, I peered through and saw a coffin and empty rosewood box. Memories flooded back, Aunt Chalice and Uncle Damien laughing, and behind them, a beautiful chateau. Then, darkness, a crash, despair, regret, rocks the shape of swords, red, and then black.

Peering further into the room, a portrait of the red haired woman hung on the opposite wall. Alarmed, I recognized the red haired specter; she was my recently deceased Aunt Chalice! Mind racing and heart pounding I backed away, stumbling into a lamp. The lamp clattered to the floor, a flame ignited. Another scream sounded from the basement cellar, hinges squeaked. Terrified, I doused the fire with a nearby carafe of water and ran.

By the time I reached the second floor I was breathless, aghast at the visions that had assaulted me, were accusations against Uncle Damien what the visions had procured? In the hallway I sank to the floor put my head on my knees, trying to grasp some semblance of reality, when Uncle Damien emerged from his room. He moved silently down the stairs, heading for the basement. I shut my eyes at another onslaught of visions. My Uncle Damien, murderous screams, and flames. I saw Uncle Damien in his carriage, chasing another carriage, carrying Aunt Chalice, or was it me, and my parents.

Feeling faint, I made my way downstairs and into the garden. It took a moment for me to realize what the garden was, a labyrinth. Somehow I knew the way to the center even though I had never been in the garden before. I walked automatically with little regard to sane thought, my feet moving on their own accord. As I walked my slippers made a barely perceptible pattering noise against the hard concrete of the path, it was the only noise in the silence of the night. I slowed as I approached the middle of the labyrinth, gazing in awe at a heavily ornate arch that marked the end of my journey.

The entire path was suddenly shrouded in a heavy mist that churned and swirled around me, leaving me cold and bringing me out of my trance-like state. The mist seemed to thin around the arcs, beckoning me to walk through the arc. I shivered in fear, or maybe excitement and proceeded to walk through the arch as I felt compelled. As I walked under the arch the mist intensified behind me, appearing like a blinding white wall. I tried to turn back, but I couldn’t, I was trapped. Blinded by the mist, the last coherent memory I had was a melodic voice whispering, “Welcome”.